


The Little (Dragon) Prince

by firethesound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Gen, Malfoy Manor, Possibly Pre-Slash, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/pseuds/firethesound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's obsession with Harry Potter started long before he ever arrived at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little (Dragon) Prince

Lucius had only just settled into his favorite leather wingback chair in the sitting room, snifter of cognac in one hand and the evening issue of the _Prophet_ in the other, when Narcissa swept into the room and announced that they had a problem.

Lucius smiled indulgently and set his drink and paper aside. He couldn’t imagine anything that serious. Poor darling, she was likely overreacting again, like she had with all that Death Eater business. That’d turned out just fine, hadn’t it? The official inquiry into the Malfoy’s involvement in the Death Eater movement had been officially closed just last week.

“It’s about Draco,” Narcissa said.

That got his attention. “Is he hurt?”

Narcissa shook her head slightly, her cascade of lovely golden hair catching the firelight. “No. He’s fine. It’s… rather hard to explain. I think you should see for yourself.”

Lucius was on his feet in an instant, and he led the way to Draco’s bedroom. He was about to enter when Narcissa caught his elbow.

“We’re having story time. Don’t say anything, just listen.”

And before Lucius could ask her just what the hell she meant by that, she pushed the door open and entered the room. While Narcissa dismissed the house elf she’d left to keep an eye on Draco, Lucius let himself gaze fondly at his son.

At four – or four-and-a-half, as Draco insisted – he already looked every inch the Malfoy heir, from the top of his platinum-blond head right down to his aristocratic little toes. He was clad in his favorite green pajamas with the little snitches embroidered along the cuffs, and had his small arms wrapped firmly around his favorite toy, a stuffed hippogriff that was beginning to look more than a little bedraggled. Lucius had been trying to persuade his young son to give it up in favor of any of the dozens of stuffed dragons he owned, but Draco had inherited more than just his looks from the Malfoys. He also had their famed stubbornness, and so Flappy the Hippogriff stayed.

Draco blinked his wide grey eyes at his father before turning to Narcissa. “Why’s Daddy here?”

“Daddy’s here for your bedtime story, sweet,” Narcissa said. She sat on the edge of Draco’s bed and brushed his fine blond hair from his forehead.

Draco’s little mouth pursed into a frown. “He’s not going to tell the story. I like your stories better.”

“Of course he won’t, darling,” Narcissa said, motioning for Lucius to join them. “He’s just going to listen. But we’ll have to start over at the beginning for him.”

The frown deepened for an instant before Draco nodded. “Fine.”

Narcissa waited until Lucius settled in the chair just beside his son’s bed before she began. “Once a very very long time ago—“

“Once upon a time,” Draco interrupted her, reminding Lucius why he hadn’t been involved with telling Draco his bedtime story since the boy had learned to talk. “That’s how they all start. You have to start it right.”

Narcissa smiled indulgently at him. “Of course. Once upon a time, there was a little prince—“

“Dragon!” he interrupted again. Yes, this is why Lucius left the story-telling to his wife.

Narcissa nodded to him. “A little _dragon_ prince, whose name was…”

“Draco!” Draco cried gleefully, clutching Flappy the Hippogriff tighter against his chest.

“Yes, and Prince Draco lived in a very large castle—“

“A cave,” Draco interrupted. “Dragons live in caves.”

“Malfoys do not live in caves,” Lucius told him sternly.

Draco looked over at him, his small face set mulishly. “They would if they were dragons.”

And Lucius found that he couldn’t argue with that.

“Draco the Dragon Prince lived in a cave. A very large and palatial sort of cave,” she added with a sidelong glance at her husband. “But even though he had all the gold and all the jewels in the world, riches are a poor substitute for companionship, and he was very lonely.”

“And then what did he do?” Draco asked, his rapt gaze focused on Narcissa.

“He decided that he would find himself a companion. So he left his cave and flew far and wide until he found himself a princess to take back with him,” Narcissa went on. “And the princess’s name was—“

“Harry Potter!”

“What?” said Lucius. Where on earth had his son even heard that name? “Harry Potter is not a princess.”

“He could be if he wanted to,” Draco said, his small voice brimming with awe. “Harry Potter can do _anything_.”

And while Lucius was still trying to work out the best way to respond to _that_ , Narcissa rushed on in her story. “So Draco the Dragon Prince took Princess Potter back to his palace—“

“Cave,” Draco insisted, abandoning Flappy to fold his tiny arms over his chest. “Tell it _right_.” With the way his eyes narrowed and the stubborn jut of his chin, he looked just like a miniature Lucius.

Narcissa’s smile grew a bit strained. “They went back to the cave. ‘Now that I have captured you—‘”

“Draco the Dragon Prince didn’t capture Harry Potter!” Draco said. “Harry Potter went with him because he wants to be friends.”

“Friends?” Lucius said before he could stop himself.

“BEST friends,” Draco insisted.

That was too much. “No Malfoy has ever been friends with a Potter!” Merlin’s beard, where on earth was Draco getting these ridiculous notions? Lucius made a mental note to write a sternly-worded letter to Draco’s day school. Perhaps he should have listened to his wife and hired a private tutor for their son.

“Then I’ll be first!” Draco announced in that high, shrill voice that indicated he was perilously close to a tantrum. “When I go to Hogwarts Harry Potter is going to be my best friend!”

Lucius drew himself up. “You will not!”

“I will so!”

“I forbid—”

“You can’t make—”

“Enough!” Narcissa cut in desperately.

Lucius bit his tongue, and Draco mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “very best friends.” Lucius opened his mouth, took one look at his wife, and promptly shut it again.

Narcissa looked back and forth between her husband and son. “Lucius, perhaps you could wait outside until I finish Draco’s story?”

Draco picked up Flappy again and cuddled him while glaring suspiciously at his father. Lucius sighed.

“I’ll just be in the hall, then.”

He left the room, and as he shut the door behind him, he heard Narcissa say, “So Draco the Dragon Prince and Princess Potter went back to the cave, and Princess Potter said…”

“Dear Merlin,” Lucius muttered and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

By the time Narcissa slipped out of Draco’s room and gently shut the door behind herself, he was feeling much better. It might have been the ten minutes that gave him a bit of perspective. It might also have been the two glasses of brandy he’d sent a house elf to fetch for him. 

“Well?” she said.

Lucius smiled at her. “Well nothing. It’s just a story, after all.”

But Narcissa didn’t look reassured. “Someday it won’t be,” she said. “He’s going to go off to Hogwarts and the Potter boy will be in his year…”

“I’m sure he’ll have forgotten all about it by then,” Lucius said, and when Narcissa opened her mouth again he pressed on. “He’s a _child_. He’s given to passing fancies now, but I’m sure it’s just a phase he’ll grow out of. As long as we don’t encourage it, he’ll be onto the next thing in no time.”

Narcissa sighed again. “I do hope you’re right.”

 

****

 

In his room, Draco snuggled Flappy closer under the blankets and let his mind drift. His mummy’s story had been nice, full of princes and princesses and a wonderful big cave filled with treasure. But it was nothing compared to the stories Draco imagined about when he gets to go to Hogwarts. He knew all about it from Pansy Parkinson at school, and how the great big shiny Hogwarts train would take them there and the boats and the Sorting and the houses and everything.

He’d find Harry Potter on the train, and he’d act just like his father because everyone liked his father. He’d stand up very straight and tell Harry Potter all about how important he was and then Harry Potter would do whatever he said, just like the men his father talked to. Draco would raise one eyebrow (he practiced that in the mirror all the time but both his eyebrows moved together. He was sure he’d have it figured out by the time he turned eleven.) and offer his hand, and Harry Potter would take it, and from that day on they’d be friends.

Best friends, forever and always.

And they’d have all sorts of adventures at Hogwarts, with secret passages and sneaking through the Forbidden Forest, and they’d both play Quidditch. Draco would be Seeker, of course, so Harry could probably be Keeper or something.

Draco yawned. And they’d both be in Slytherin, and they’d play Exploding Snap together, and Draco would teach Harry Wizard Chess, just as soon as he learned all the rules himself. And Draco would let Harry sleep with Flappy if he wanted to, and everyone would be so jealous of him because he’d be the one that Harry Potter liked best.

He yawned again and snuggled deeper under his covers.

Eleven felt like it was forever away.

He could hardly wait.

 

****

 

Far away over England, in a small town in Surrey, a small boy with wild black hair and vivid green eyes and a scar like a lightning bolt rolled over on his thin mattress and clutched his threadbare blanket closer against the chill of the night. He never thought about the future or about friendships, because he already felt far too old for such childish imaginings. He didn’t even think about how cold he was, or about the way his belly grumbled, or how he could never quite get comfortable on the thin mattress. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and pretended that he doesn’t exist, like his Aunt Petunia always said she wished he didn’t, and hoped he fell asleep soon, because sleeping was the only time that everything’s okay.


End file.
